


never on my side

by brittany4824



Series: no time to die [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bookworm Hermione Granger, Canon Related, Draco and Hermione do homework together, F/M, Hermione is nosy, Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts Sixth Year, One Shot, Prologue, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, budding friendship, malfoy is mopey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittany4824/pseuds/brittany4824
Summary: There is a rumor going around Hogwarts, but Hermione doubts that it could be true. After all, she would have noticed a Veela walking around the halls for the past five years. But as Hermione dismisses the notion, Draco has learned something that will change the course of his life forever. For as they say, things are not always as they seem.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: no time to die [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175657
Comments: 50
Kudos: 199





	never on my side

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to my first Harry Potter universe fanfic! I have been dying to write this series for you guys for over a year, and my good friend MKT convinced me to do it! 
> 
> Disclaimer time:  
> 1\. I am American therefor all the grammar and spelling will be in that style  
> 2\. This work does not have a beta reader (Side note if you’re a beta reader, hit a sister up!)  
> 3\. This series is going to end up being canon-divergent, but this one shot is a standalone/prologue  
> 4\. I don’t own anything from the Wizarding World (though I’d like to think I do)

_ “The wind breathed life into her, mountain dew suckled her, the forest dressed her in leaves and the meadow adorned her with flowers. She was whiter than snow, her cheeks rosier than a rose, she was more radiant than the sun; she was such as the world had never seen before nor shall it ever see again.” _

Hair so blonde it was almost blinding, smile too sensual and too white, eyes piercing as if they were searching for your soul— these were the things Hermione remembered most about Fleur, a Veela who had been a competitor during the Triwizard Tournament in Hermione’s fourth year. Hogwarts' girls had watched her from a distance while the boys were drawn to Fleur as if they heard a silent song calling to them. That year Hermione had spent a few hours researching Veela in the library, mostly because she was annoyed by the blonde witch’s presence. But Hermione had been busy that year and had more pressing issues to focus on, considering her best friend was forced to partake in the Triwizard Tournament. So she had rushed her research, telling herself she would need to look further into creatures once she had time. 

As it was, Hermione rarely had free-time. The Triwizard Tournament ended in tragedy, resulting in He Who Must Not be Named returning and the death of a fellow classmate. 

Fifth year had hardly been better when she was forced to attend school with a tyrant of a woman, Umbridge. The woman had put a stop to all the important kinds of education, so Hermione and her friends’ time had been consumed with Dumbledore’s Army that year. She had spent all her free-time planning and attending their meetings where children taught children how to fight Dark Wizards. Just as the year prior had ended in tragedy, so did her fifth year with the death of Sirius Black. But the death of their beloved mentor had not been the sole reason for Hermione’s nightmares. The pain of whatever curse she had been struck with during the battle in The Department of Mysteries still haunted her dreams. The scar left by Dolohov’s spell twisted grotesquely around her waist and hip. 

Being well into year six, Hermione had been relieved when nothing too excited had really happened. She hoped death was not on this year’s menu, but Hermione was not holding her breath. Each day she felt as though she was waiting for something, anything, to happen that would change the course of her life in some way just as each of her previous years had.

But as it were, the most excitement that occurred around the Gryffindor table was Harry adamantly trying to convince her and Ron that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. Draco, he insisted, must be spying on Hogwarts for the Dark Lord. But as Hermione chanced glances at the Slytherin, he just appeared sad— looking more broken than he did evil. Hermione would roll her eyes at her friend, and tried to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. Harry, however, refused to give up his theory. Even Ron, who despised Draco Malfoy more than she did, would shoot Hermione with a look that said,  _ not this again,  _ everytime Harry would go on his rants at the breakfast table. 

But if Hermione had thought Ron would be an ally in making this year a better year than the previous, she was wrong. Hermione realized this when she caught Lavender Brown’s lips attacking Ron’s after his victory on the Quidditch pitch. She had thought, perhaps, that he felt a stronger way for her. But she must have been wrong, and the sting of rejection cut deeply. 

It was something she had always struggled with— feeling wanted and valuable to others. That simple fact about her was woven into her very being. It was why she worked so hard to prove herself to her teachers and peers at Hogwarts. It was also why she was often overbearing and snoopy. She knew it, but she couldn’t help it. She had been an outcast for eleven years of her life in the Muggle world (aside from her parents who tried very hard not to look horrified at her accidental magic when she was growing up). When she found herself at Hogwarts she had been determined to find a place she belonged, and she had found that with Harry and Ron. 

Ron who was apparently determined to snog Lavender whenever he had the chance, much to Hermione’s dismay. 

Clearly, Hermione had read her relationship with Ron entirely wrong. The purposeful brushes he would make against her bare skin when they sat closer than normal on the Common Room sofa, smiles meant just for her, and the occasional time she would catch him staring had, in her mind, added up to something more than it apparently was. 

But that was a week ago, and Hermione was determined not to allow Ronald Weasley ruin her sixth year— even if the new couple’s very public and very loud snogging sessions were a bit hard to witness. 

One Sunday morning, Hermione scanned the Great Hall wondering who she could replace Ronas her date to Slughorn’s Christmas party. When her eyes landed on Cormac McLaggen, he gave her a quick wink, and she internally winced. 

__ _ No _ . There was no way would she even consider that idiot for her date. Ever since Ron had shacked up with Lavender Brown, Hermione had noticed the boy’s attention had gone from the occasional smirk to tedious small talk and flirting. This only made her more angry at Ronald for abandoning her. 

Quickly averting her gaze, she continued her casual perusal of the Great Hall. As she considered each boy who was remotely acceptable, she began to feel a swell of anxiety. The truth was, she wasn’t interested in anyone in the slightest. She had never taken time to consider any of the boys at her school as more than an acquaintance or friend. It wasn’t as if she was against the idea of liking someone, she just hadn’t had the time. 

She had given up her search when she happened upon a set of cold, silver eyes across the hall. They were the same eyes that she had come to realize reserved a special look of distaste just for her. Many years ago, when she had first stepped foot on The Hogwarts Express, she had found them warm and inviting until she had spoken her name when asked. The moment the boy had realized she wasn’t from a family he knew, they’d melted into a cool indifference. Much later in the night, she had sought them out, only to find the boy across the dining hall with that look of loathing for the first time. 

Now, however, Draco was staring at her with a weird sort of look on his face. Not quite the normal look of disgust, but not pleasant either. It was reminiscent of a sick fascination much like the way her classmates had watched their python eat a mouse when she was in primary Muggle school. 

Not sure what else to do, Hermione dropped her eyes to her hands which were wrapped around a teacup, hoping he would look away. But when she looked back to see if he’d gone back to his business, she found his intense stare was still directed in her direction.

Merlin, what was wrong with boys this year? 

Hermione had been so caught up in Draco that she’d missed what her friends were whispering about. The discussion was animated and many of the boys and girls glowed with excitement. Leaning in closer, Hermione found herself listening to Dean who was sitting next to Ginny.

“...I heard we have a Veela in our school,” Dean was saying. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. 

“Don’t you think it would be a little obvious if we had a Veela attending Hogwarts? We all remember how you boys acted like complete morons when Fleur attended a year with us, and she was just a quarter!” Ginny laughed. 

“Where did you hear this?” Hermione asked Dean, her curiosity getting the best of her, though she very much doubted there was a Veela here at Hogwarts. Like Ginny had so eloquently explained— they stuck out. 

“Seamus was talking with Hannah Abbott who had heard from her friend at Beauxbatons that we have a student here who is Veela,” he told her proudly. 

“A first year?” Hermione wondered aloud. She scanned the room again for any fair, blonde girls who may fit the bill, but instead found the shock white hair of Malfoy. Draco who was still very much attending her every move. Furrowing her brow she shot him an annoyed look that she hoped would get him to leave her alone. It worked just as she had planned as he responded with a sneer, turning his attention back on his friends.

“Not according to Hannah’s friend. She said they’re in our year.” 

“Our year?” Lavender scoffed. “I think we’d know if there was Veela in  _ our _ year! Right, Won Won?” 

Ron glanced at his girlfriend and gave a noncommittal shrug with a, “Of course, Lav.” 

Seeming very pleased with her boyfriend’s easy agreement, Lavender gave Ron a loud kiss on the cheek. Hermione had to keep from rolling her eyes. 

“Maybe it’s not a girl?” Neville suggested. 

“No,” Hermione interjected, pulling the knowledge she had obtained in year four. “Veela are strictly female.” She watched as her classmates scrunched up their faces as they tried to come up with who could possibly be the mysterious Veela in their class. Personally, she thought it was absolute nonsense. There was no way a Veela had walked through their halls for six years without anyone noticing. Even if the student had been granted a glamour charm, their ruse would have been up by now. But, just in case, she decided she should finally finish her research she had meant to do years ago. 

“Probably just a rumour then,” was Harry’s distracted response. His eyes had slid to the Slytherin table as he was undoubtedly plotting against the supposed Death Eater who now had his back turned from Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors. 

“Harry,” Hermione chided. “Give it a rest.” 

“He’s up to something,” her friend insisted for what felt like the millionth time. “I just know it.” 

-*-

Hermione had, in fact, rushed to the library to dig up any books that may have information on Veela. To her dismay, there was not much to be found, only the basic information she already knew. They were females of ethereal beauty. Their mythology was found almost throughout all corners of the world though it seemed they reigned from Slavic countries. A group of them had migrated to the regions of France when Muggle men had waged a war against them. The French, it seemed, were much more tolerant of their lure and magic. 

Hermione found herself breathing the words of her final book in her pile. It was from a Muggle book.

_ “Once upon a time there lived a maiden who was not born from mother and father but made by Vilas out of snow gathered from a bottomless pit under the light of St Ilija’s sun. The wind breathed life into her…”  _

So that was that. They were definitely women born of magic entirely. Her only experience with Veela had been in her fourth year at the Quidditch World Cup and Fleur. But Fleur had been a quarter Veela. With that knowledge Hermione supposed that Veela were able to have… Hermione’s face blushed at the thought…  _ relations _ with human men. Perhaps this mysterious student, if they did exist, was only part Veela as well? That would certainly allow them to blend in better, wouldn’t it? 

Hermione placed her books back on the shelves with a swish of her wand, stood, and stretched her aching limbs. A blanket of stars had covered the sky which indicated she had spent much more time in the library than she had intended. Once again, she had lost herself in books. No doubt, Ron and Harry would be waiting for her in the Common Room with the twin smiles they always shared whenever they teased her for her love of books. 

No matter. She had confirmed what she had already known about Veela, and would be reporting her finding to her friends the next morning. She had determined the mysterious student had to be a female and was most likely not full Veela. 

Placing her bag over her shoulder, she began making her way out of the little corner she had secretly designated as her own within the library when ran into a solid wall with an,  _ oof _ . 

“Sorry…” she began to apologize as she lifted her head to see who she’d plowed into. Silver eyes found hers and she shivered, stepping back quickly. 

“Do you ever watch where you’re going?” Draco sneered. 

“Maybe if you weren’t sneaking around here like a snake I would have known you were there!” Hermione replied with indignation. 

A normal response from Malfoy would have included a slur and more harsh words, but instead he simply shook his head, his hair falling onto his forehead. 

Hermione had noticed that he had stopped slicking his hair back, and she couldn’t help but admit it looked much better this way— messy, slightly curled, very un-Malfoy. She watched as he found a seat at a table and pulled a large book out of his bag followed by parchment and a quill. Most likely studying for Ancient Runes, she realized. 

“Have you begun the essay yet?” she found herself asking, cringing as the words left her mouth. Clearly his intent was to dismiss her when he walked away, but here she was asking him trivial questions about a homework assignment. 

He looked up at her, seemingly shocked at her attempt of small talk. But instead of his normally hostile words, he looked down at his blank parchment and said quietly, “Not yet. My mind’s been a little preoccupied.” 

“But it’s due tomorrow!” Hermione exclaimed, her perfectionist coming out in full force. Again she cringed when she realized that she had just scolded him as if he were Harry or Ron. 

“Which is why I would appreciate it if you’d get lost…” Draco looked conflicted as he added, “... _ Mudblood _ .” 

But the slur didn’t hold his normal aggressive tone she’d grown accustomed to. It felt forced, somehow, and his jaw clenched as if it was almost painful for him to speak to her at all. 

“I could help,” she told him after a moment of silence. 

_ Help? _ Her mind screamed.  _ Help Malfoy?? After he just called you a… a… mudblood?? _

But she held her ground and waited for a reply from Draco. When she realized she was not going to get one, she made her way to the empty seat across from him and placed her bag at her feet as she sat. 

“Did you not hear me the first time, Granger? I said get lost.”

The disgust in his voice was evident that time, and she debated getting back up and leaving him to suffer alone. But when she thought of going back to the Common Room where she wasn’t sure if she’d find Lavender’s tongue shoved in Ron’s mouth, she realized she’d rather do homework with her enemy. 

“This assignment took me ages,” she told him, ignoring his request she leave. “Let me help.” 

Sighing, he pushed the book’s pages open, continuing his silence as he began reading their text, probably trying to find any information that would help him on their essay on “soul bonding runes and spells.”

“I could find the books that I used to help me. You won’t find enough information in just our textbook,” she told him. His eyes flicked angrily up. 

“Make yourself useful then,” was his short reply before his eyes went back to scanning his text.

Hermione busied herself, ignoring the way it was obvious that Draco didn’t want her around. But then again, he wasn’t exactly fighting it either was he? She supposed at the very least she could get more insight on his weird behavior and report back to Harry— who would not shut up about his Death Eater theory. As she pulled heavy books from the shelves (a Muggle habit) and used her wand to carry the books around with her (a blessed magical habit), she watched Draco out of the corner of her eye whenever he came back into view. He looked as if he were deep in thought, biting the tip of his quill while he read. 

Hermione was known to do the same thing.

When she finally set the books on the table, he lazily looked up at them and back down, dismissing her once again. If Hermione hated one thing, it was being ignored. Was he aware of how much she was helping his spoiled pure-blooded arse? 

“These are just a few of the books I used in the essay,” Hermione informed him. She picked up one, “The Soul and Its Binding Factors,” and shoved it toward him. 

“Just a few of the books?” Draco mused looking up at the large stack. She felt her face redden in embarrassment. 

“Yes.” Her voice sounded more confident than she felt. In reality she couldn’t understand why she was sitting across from Draco. Death Eater or not, he wasn’t pleasant. No, better words that described Malfoy were bully, prat, and cockroach. But something had made her want to stay. To understand the reason behind the sadness in his eyes this year. 

As if he heard her thoughts, those sad eyes met hers and narrowed. 

“You can leave now, Granger.”

Calling her by her last name was better than what he had been calling her since their second year. She reckoned she would take that as a win. 

“What’s the angle you’re writing from?” she asked, pretending not to hear the way he huffed when he realized she wasn’t budging. 

“I don’t honestly know or care.” 

“I wrote about the soul bonding of werewolves. I read an amazing book—”

“Granger, I really don’t care.”

“ — about two people, one a werewolf and another a human. They were bonded. They used several rune strategies throughout the book which gave me insight on the kinds of runes that the werewolf community often uses,” she finished. 

“Are you going to sit there and ign—”

This time Hermione cut him off, “You could talk about the use of runes in soul bonding ceremonies used during events like traditional wizarding marriage ceremonies?” 

With a deep sigh, he flipped open the book she had given him. 

“Would that be an easy topic to write on, you think? I want to get out of here sooner than later.” 

“I would think so… Unlike my werewolf topic, there is a lot of information on those kinds of ceremonies.” 

“Then let’s do it.”

Hermione’s breath hitched at the way he included her in his plan. The excitement of being included coursed through her. She tried telling herself she really didn’t care that the impenetrable Draco Malfoy had given into her. And perhaps he was just using her and her knowledge to get the assignment over with, but it meant something to her for some reason— breaking him down. 

She took a book from the stack for herself and began searching for the information Draco needed. They were silent as they read. 

When Hermione finally broke the silence they had easily settled in, she had  _ wanted _ to say that she was pretty sure this was the longest they’d ever spoken or been around each other aside from forced partnerships in class, but what she  _ actually _ said mortified her. 

“Do you know much about Veela?” 

“What in the fuck does that have to do with runes and ceremonies, Granger?” 

_ Nothing at all _ , she conceded silently. 

“People think there’s a Veela at Hogwarts,” she replied quietly. “I have been trying to figure out if it's true or not.” 

“Why don’t you ask your precious headmaster? Surely Dumbledore would tell you anything you want to know.” 

She ignored the jab and continued to wonder aloud. “I’m certain it must be a girl. From my extensive research, it seems it can only be women who are Veela.” 

She was aware of the way Draco tensed at that. But soon he relaxed and she wondered if she had just imagined it. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay focused on runes.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” 

It was no wonder he was unwilling to converse about Veela. He was on quite the time crunch, and it was already late into the night. Their Ancient Runes class was first thing the next morning. 

Together they spent hours finding the information Draco needed. As Hermione read aloud the information, Draco wrote his essay. Every once in a while, he would pause and read to her what he’d written. In turn, she’d hum with the pleasure of hearing Draco’s words. He was an excellent writer, she realized. While she wrote with analytical precision, his words were like poetry. They slid down your body and enticed you. She was in awe of the power his words held, the confidence they demonstrated. Many times, she caught herself holding her breath as his voice, raspy from exhaustion, echoed in the empty library as he read to her. 

Hours had passed and the candles were burning low. Their eyes were heavy with the sleep they desperately needed. Draco stretched and gave a small smile before closing his eyes and lifting his arms high above his head. All the while, Hermione watched with a new kindling interest. For the most part, he had been downright enjoyable to be around. This version of Draco was bloody brilliant, thoughtful (at least in terms of his studies— he still enjoyed throwing jabs her way whenever he had the chance), and seemingly shy as he asked her whether she liked what he’d written. 

As the night came to an end, Hermione knew she and her temporary friend would have to sneak back into their house dormitories as it was much past the curfew Professor Dumbledore had issued at the beginning of the year. Luckily Hermione had experience sneaking around the school after hours. She wondered if Draco would be able to get away without getting caught. 

“I guess, I should be getting back…” she sighed, somehow knowing that once they were no longer tucked into the corner of the library, things would go back to how they were. 

“Just a moment more, Granger.” 

His words shocked her. She had expected that once they’d finished, he would want to rush off, pretending as though none of this had happened. But she didn’t want to break whatever spell they were under, so she leaned back into her seat and watched him with eyes still shut and the shadow of a smile he wore. He rolled his neck around, his body clearly sore and stiff from being hunched over books— something Hermione was intimately familiar with. Finally, his eyes opened and she noticed, with a glimmer of excitement, that there was an absence of his usual sadness. 

Though she was afraid speaking would send him running she still whispered, “You seem lighter.”

Her words were quiet, honest, and he seemed to understand what she meant.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve just been able to do this.”

“This?”

“Study in a library, relax,  _ this _ .” 

She didn’t fully understand what he meant, but the explanation was enough for her and she accepted it with a nod, a yawn slipping out. 

“You’re tired,” Draco pointed out. She was… extremely so. In the past week, she had wasted a lot of sleep being upset with Ron and worried about things she had no control over, but she wasn’t going to tell  _ him _ that. 

“You are too,” she smiled as she pointed at the dark circles just under his eyes.

“I’ve been tired all year,” he admitted, unhappiness returning. She watched with dismay as it happened and regretted saying anything at all. 

“I guess we should go,” she told him again, so quietly she almost hoped he wouldn’t hear her. 

“I guess we should,” he agreed reluctantly. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

They both knew what she meant. She was asking if this night had changed things. If he saw her differently. Was she no longer a muddied person in his eyes? 

But when he refused to meet her stare, she knew the answer. Nothing had changed. Not really. 

“I’m sorry,” was his only response. “But it’s better this way.” 

Better apart. Better separate. Better alone. 

She tried not to feel dejected over the fact Draco Malfoy didn’t want to be her friend. If you’d asked her that morning, she wouldn’t have cared a bit whether Draco Malfoy liked her or not. But something had changed as they sat together in the dark library, exchanging secret smiles and glances. 

Standing, she didn’t offer another word. What could she say? So she grabbed her bag and left him sitting alone, not daring to look back. The feeling of his eyes on her lingered the entire way out.

If she were honest, she felt his presence long after she’d left the library.

-*-

The following day went as well as she’d expected it to. She had hardly slept, and this time it was not because of Ron and his lack of decent human emotion and civility, but because of the blonde boy she’d shared so many hours with. She ate breakfast with her friends, determined to act as though she were perfectly fine, just in case Draco was watching her like he had the morning before. But when she quickly glanced in his direction, he was completely engrossed in a conversation with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. 

The Gryffindor table was still animatedly discussing who could possibly be a Veela. A subject Hermione was annoyed with. She interjected the information she had found the day before, and a whole new wave of excitement washed over the table. Realizing the student could be only part Veela opened up a lot of room for more students to be scrutinized by the Gryffindor students. 

“Hannah Abbott, she’s blonde?” someone suggested. 

“No, she’s not Veela. She’s hardly the kind of girl someone would fall all over. Besides she’s the one who told us,” a rude boy laughed. To Hermione’s surprise, Ron stuck up for Hannah, stating he found her very nice to look at which earned him an elbow in the side and a pouting girlfriend. 

Hermione tuned out her friends, tired of the continued conversation. Truthfully, she really didn’t think that there was such a student here. But she was quickly dragged back into the conversation when Seamus asked, “What d’you think, ‘Ermione?” 

She hadn’t heard the question so she looked to Ginny who filled her in. 

“These idiots think Malfoy is a contender, but I reminded them that you said it has to be a female.”

The mention of Draco had her heart racing and she immediately scolded it for causing such an unnecessary commotion. 

“Malfoy?” she managed to laugh, “He’s hardly someone people are drawn to…” she paused and cast a careful glance at the Slytherin table, worried he could hear the way she spoke of him. “He’s more likely to run people off, don’t you think?” 

The boys hollered at her assessment, and Seamus grunted under his breath that it was only meant to be a joke. 

“His hair does fit the description, doesn’t it?” came a dreamy voice from the end of the table. Hermione’s attention was drawn to the blonde girl with a strange hat on her head. Luna smiled serenely at Hermione. 

“Well, that would mean you should be considered too, Luna,” Neville chimed in. Luna hummed at that, but kept her eyes on Hermione. 

Somehow, and Hermione didn’t know how, Luna knew her secret about last night. It was evident in the way her eyes twinkled with a certain level of understanding. 

“It’s okay, Hermione...” Luna said once everyone had begun new conversations around the table, “...to be wrong.” 

Pretending not to hear the strange Ravenclaw, Hermione took a large bite of her muffin and focused her attention on the open textbook in front of her. 

It wasn’t until the hairs on the back of her neck stood with the feeling of being watched that she looked up from her text and found Draco’s eyes on her for the first time that morning. But he didn’t look at her like he had last night. Instead she found a fury there that he saved for the days he was in a particularly bad mood. She furrowed her brow, hoping to ask him wordlessly what was wrong, but she received a turned back in response. 

Well, if Draco truly was going to pretend nothing had happened that night, she would gladly join along. How she would even begin to explain to her friends that she was friends with a Death Eater’s son was something she didn’t even want to consider. It was easier this way. Their mutual animosity. 

Sometime later she followed her friends out of the Great Hall and found herself hoping Draco received a failing grade on his Ancient Runes assignment. Her classmates continued their debate about who could be the Veela, and she listened absentmindedly, trying desperately to forget about the way a certain boy made her feel, and the absurdity of the night

* * *

SIX HOURS EARLIER

She was intoxicating. It was the only way to describe the girl sitting across from him. Her smile was bewitching, her laugh was a song, her eyes…  _ Merlin _ , her eyes were begging him to find a home in her soul. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or throw up over this revelation. 

The moment her small body had slammed into him, he knew he was utterly fucked. Because she wasn’t the kind of person he was allowed to like, let alone be attracted to. She was lower than the mud that ran through her veins. She was an abomination. A freak magical anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed. She was not worth his time or effort… at least according to tradition and his father. 

Hermione Granger was everything he had been taught to hate. He had tried for years to ensure that hatred was evident whenever he ran into her in the halls or in class. He called her a mudblood, and he watched her tears with a sick sort of victory. She was a know-it-all bitch that wouldn’t have been someone he’d want to associate even if she wasn’t born from Muggles. At least, that’s what he had tried to tell himself ever since the day he had to hear her rambling on in Snape’s class their first year. 

They were not friends. They were not even civil to one another— him with his hatred for Mudbloods and Muggles, and her with her distaste for his pure-blood upbringing and ideologies. 

Yet here she was, snuggled in one of the Hogwarts library’s chairs, cheeks tinted pink from the warming charm he had cast around them, smiling whenever she read something she found interesting. She hadn’t once treated him like she normally did— as if he weren’t worth her time— even when he had tried to push her away. Why she insisted on helping him was not clear. Though he did figure that she and Potter had some sort of savior complex, so perhaps she thought she was fulfilling her daily dose of do-goodness. What other reason could have possibly compelled her to stay through his bad mood and brooding silence? 

But it wasn’t just this evening that he’d found the unpleasant draw to the frizzy haired witch. Just that morning something had pulled his attention toward the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, and he had found her there. His magic had buzzed with some sort of content delight as he watched her. It had been strange then, and it was bewildering now. He could feel the same buzz, only stronger as she sat so near to her, and he swore he could smell the hint of her floral shampoo everytime she pushed her hair from her face. Something was wrong with him. Something was completely and irrevocably fucked with his magic. It was as if it drew them together, and he wondered for a moment if she had felt it too. 

If that had been why she was so inclined to stay with him. 

When she had brought up Veela that evening, he had shut her down instantly. It was not a topic he wished to discuss with the brightest witch at their school. He was thankful when she had shrugged his uninterest off without a care and they continued their reading in silence. As he skimmed the books she had so selflessly found for him, the tingling sensation of his magic began trailing down his arms. It was driving him crazy. Just as he was about to give up on focusing on the book in front of him, he stopped short as he came upon a soul bond that chilled his blood. Slamming the book shut, he saw her glance up, her reverie broken by the noise. 

“What was it?” she asked, her voice soft and tired. 

“Nothing,” he muttered. Her brow creased, and his magic begged him to press a thumb against it— to smooth it. He internally groaned and told his magic to kindly fuck off. 

Pushing the book off to the side he pulled his quill and parchment in front of him, and the rest of the night was spent writing. What he wrote he was too tired to really know, but Granger was nothing less than enthused with his essay. So he supposed it couldn’t have been the utter shite he assumed it would be. 

When time came for her to go back to her dormitory she had asked him if she’d be seeing him the next day. His heart yearned to tell her he wouldn’t mind seeing her again like this, but his dedication to his upbringing— to the mark that she was unaware was etched into his left arm— forced him to choose for them what their future would be. 

Nothing. 

It had to be that way. There was no future where Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were friends. Even if his magic groaned in protest from his words. 

He watched her walk away from him without a single glance back, and he tried to convince himself it really was for the best. Once she was out of sight, he pulled the book, the one he’d slammed shut, back to where he sat. Opening it carefully, he found the page that had his head spinning. 

_ Often the male spawn of Veela are inflicted with magical maladies. They experience certain effects that are usually reserved for Veela. Physical appearance is the most common difference in the male children of Veela. They often have the white hair and pale complexion that is commonly associated with Veela. Often they will experience a physical change in physique once they turn eighteen. This change is primarily their muscular anatomy and their height. On very rare occasions, as children of Veela mature, they may grow wings. These wings are in the same style as their mother. The most rare occurrences found in the male children of Veela are mating bonds. These bonds are formed through the male’s magic and the magic of the witch their bond is shared. Once a mating bond has been formed, it cannot be broken. If the bond is not completed through a rune ceremony, the male will become sick. In the worst cases there have been reports that the male will die without the completion of the bond. There have been less than one hundred cases reported…  _

Draco read the words “mating bond” over and over again until they bled together. He begged any gods that were listening for it not to be true. 

Looking up, he found the empty chair Hermione Granger had been sitting in just moments ago. Her scent still filled the small space around him. And he knew, though his head begged him not to admit it. 

Hermione Granger was his mate. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The passage Hermione reads about Veela can be found [HERE](https://folklorethursday.com/regional-folklore/serbian-folklore-his-majesty-the-zmaj-and-her-majesty-the-vila/)
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